Home
by WorriedShoes014
Summary: MJ SPOILERS. "Part of me wants to jump into his arms and cling to him like a life-preserver. I can't, though. This reunion shouldn't be about comfort, it should be about grief." Katniss and Gale reunite two years after the rebellion.


**Author's Note:** I cannot be the only one who was completely unsatisifed with the resolution of Katniss and Gale's relationship. All of a sudden Katniss hated him, and they just never talked again? What is that? I love Katniss. I love Gale. They love eachother (even if Katniss doesn't love him like he loves her). I can't imagine her cutting him out of her life after the loss of Prim when she's not even sure it was his fault. Shouldn't she have been happy he was still alive? Those opinions led me to write this fanfic. It's taken awhile to get it out, but here it is. Gale is in District Twelve and pays Katniss a visit because I can't imagine either of them without the other. Also, this isn't a romantic fic. Katniss is with Peeta. She loves him and only him. It's about Katniss and Gale hoping and trying to repair their fatally wounded friendship. If Katniss's emotions on whether or not she blames Gale sound conflicting, that's the point. I imagine her being very confused about the whole ordeal.

**About the title:** This is named for the song "Home" by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. Amazing song. Also, I chose to name it Home because Gale is finally coming home to District Twelve, the place where he grew up. And both he and Katniss feel like the other is their home, having spent a large portion of their lives together. Okay, I'll stop babbling now.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing and am not afarid to admit it. It's all owned by the brilliant Suzanne Collins. I'm merely borrowing it for the entertainment of myself and, hopefully, others. No copyright infringement intended.

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**Home**

I lay on my bed, my mind numb as I stare up at the ceiling. Four years ago on this day, Primrose Everdeen was picked as a District 12 tribute for the seventy-fourth Hunger Games. Fours year ago, I stumbled to the stage and volunteered in her place. Four years ago, I came to terms with the fact that I was going to die, and Prim was going to be safe at home with our mother. Yet here I am, as alive as I ever have been. And Prim has gone to whatever awaits us after death. How ironic.

I stand up and rub at the sleep in my eyes, taking in my surroundings. Slowly my blurry eyes sharpen, and I am able to pinpoint certain objects in my bedroom. The bed that I'd just retreated from, a table in the corner that keeps my bow and sheath of arrows upright, the breeze from the open window causing my door to sway gently. I put my hand against the cool glass of the window, savoring in the beauty of my favorite season. Spring.

I can make out the droplets of water still clinging to the siding of my neighbor's house. Their window, which is directly across from my own, is wide open. I had figured the occupant would still be sleeping – it can't be later than seven o'clock. But I can tell from the few inches of the bed I can see that the comforter is neatly spread across the mattress. Peeta must be awake.

I turn to the door and make my way downstairs, prepared to make myself a small but sufficient breakfast. Greasy Sae had stopped coming over twice a day once I'd promised to follow her recipes and keep myself nourished. I can have something fairly simple boiling on the stove in a matter of minutes, a feat that I am quite proud of. Although I am a great hunter, I've never excelled in the preparation of my kills.

When I reach the lower level, I nearly screech at the sight of the person sitting at my tiny table. He looks so different from when I'd last seen him two years prior. His tanned skin looks a few shades darker, and his hair has grown out from the short cut Coin had made the soldiers of the rebellion sport. He looks an inch or two taller, too, and his clothes are formal and business-like. The only things that haven't changed are his eyes. When I look in them, I can see the fierceness that was always present, though now it's duller. I can see the whisper of the Gale Hawthorne I used to know.

Part of me wants to jump into his arms and cling to him like a life-preserver, rescuing me from drowning in two years worth of guilt and regret. I can't, though. It's like there is a thick, invisible, _impenetrable_ wall standing between us. No matter how much we want to just hold each other, we can't. This reunion shouldn't be about comfort, it should be about guilt. We have to get things out in the open, have to talk about the trail of bodies we'd left behind us during the rebellion. Have to talk about Prim.

I'm not sure how to start, so I choose the easiest question. "How did you get in?" I always make sure the doors are locked before I go to bed at night; it has been a nervous habit of mine since President Snow had showed up in my house before the Quarter Quell.

"Peeta." He says. I expect some sort of grimace when he says the name or at least a hint of venom in his voice, but there is none. He says it like he'd say the name of an acquaintance; someone who has little importance in his life.

I nod, knowing immediately that he is telling the truth. Peeta has been trying to get me to contact Gale for months. He thinks it is ridiculous that we were the best of friends for six years, and then allowed what we had to crumble. "What are you doing here?" I question, staring at the table where his rough hands rest.

Gale stands, shifting his body slightly forward as though he is going to walk towards me, then thinks against it. He awkwardly grips the back of his chair as he speaks. "I was stopping by District 12 on business. I thought it was the perfect opportunity to see you." We stand there in silence for a minute or two before he begins talking again, his voice laced with disappointment. "I can leave, if you want. I understand why you're angry at me."

He moves toward the door, but I stop him with the sound of my voice, a half-whisper of a name. "Gale."

He turns to stare at me, his gray eyes wide and searching. "Katniss." I cringe away from the name. It sounds so distant and foreign on his tongue, so similar to the way he'd said Peeta's name. I wish he would brush a lock of hair out of my eyes, call me Catnip, grin in the way that he saves only for me. But I have to remind myself what needs to be discussed.

"I don't hate you, if that's what you think." I reassure him immediately. The moment it leaves my mouth, I know it's true. I've spent the last two years feeling angry and betrayed. I couldn't even think about him without images of Prim's last moments – calling out my name, staring at me, her blond hair falling in her eyes. I flinch at the memory and watch as his eyebrow raises.

"You okay?" He asks, and I nod to ease his worry. "I've missed you." The emotion he'd been trying to reign in seeps into his voice. He sounds broken.

I look up then, at those words. I don't know what I expected. I guess I knew he'd miss me; having spent nearly every day with me for six years. Suddenly cutting off all forms of contact had been difficult for me, even though it was my decision. I can only imagine how it had been for him. I steer the subject away from our emotions or anything that has to do with us. I need to talk about Prim first. Like ripping off surgical tape – the slower you do it, the more pain it causes.

"I don't hate you." I repeat, chewing on the inside of my cheek. "You didn't tell Coin to do that, to murder those children and those trying to help. To murder my little sister." My throat burns and the backs of my eyes itch with the force of my tears, but I control it. I don't want him to see me cry.

"No." Gale agrees. "I didn't. But I'm the reason it happened. That might have been my bomb, Katniss."

I shake my head. "I don't know, Gale. I-" I pause, squeezing my eyes together to keep the tears from flowing. I dig my teeth deeper into my cheek before speaking again. "I don't have the energy to continue blaming you. I _shouldn't_ continue blaming you. I should be happy that I didn't lose you, too. But I don't know how to. Every time I think of you or hear your name, I see Prim."

He nods in understanding, his eyes downcast. Neither of us will look at each other. Neither of us is brave enough to look the other in the eye. We're weak. I wonder how we made it through. I wonder why Prim isn't living instead of me. She was always better at talking to people, always better at being a good person. She was just _better_. I feel those stupid tears again, struggling to fall. I bite my cheek so hard that it bleeds. The metallic flavor floods my mouth.

"I can't believe she's gone." He finally says, and I look up at that. At his acknowledgment of Prim.

"Sometimes I turn over in my bed and search for her. I think she might have gone to lay with our mother. Then I realize that she's gone. That they're both gone now." He looks up, and this time I hold his gaze as I go on. "I've seen my mother once since the Capitol fell. Once. She refuses to come here. She can't face the memories, so she's chosen to leave me. Doesn't she realize I need her?"

Gale laughs bitterly, and I scowl at him. I can't find the humor in what I've said. He laughs again at my confused expression. "Can't you see the irony?" I stand my ground, the scowl still plastered on my face. He shakes his head, his gray eyes focused on me. I realize the change in his eyes, the intensity that has suddenly appeared. There's the Gale I used to know. "I needed you, Katniss. After everything that happened, I needed you. And you can deny it all you want, but I know you needed me, too. Still, you refused to talk to me, to admit that I even existed anymore. You abandoned me just like your mother abandoned you."

"That was different, Gale."

"How was it different?" His tone is challenging.

"You know how."

"How? Say it!"

"Because my mother didn't kill someone I loved! She didn't kill Prim!" I shout, and that's it. I feel the first tear fall, slide down my smooth cheek. Then another. And another. And before I know it, my face is dripping, my nose is running, and I can barely stand.

Gale grabs my elbow and leads me to my table. He sets me down in a seat and kneels in front of me, taking my hands in his. I surprise myself. I don't push him away. My shoulders shake from the force of my grief, and I try to reign in my sobs so I won't embarrass myself. I know it's too late for that, though.

"I don't know if we can fix this, Katniss." He tells me. His thumb gently runs across the back of my hand. I cry harder when I realize how many times he's said my name. Not once has he slipped up and called me Catnip. "Do you think things can ever be the way they were before you were a Hunger Games victor?"

"No." I admit, the tears finally subsiding. I'm left sitting there, my hands limp in Gale's, my shoulders hunched. I feel weak, drained, like I could sleep a hundred years. "I wish they could be, but they can't."

He nods in agreement and disentangles his hands from mine. I miss their warmth. Crave the warmth he'd brought me, if only for a minute. I need it. It helps ease the pain, helps fill the emptiness. "I have to leave now." He tells me in a tone that implies he's talking to a child. Part of me, the old Katniss, wants to snap at him. The other half, the one that seems to constantly overshadow the other, just doesn't give a damn.

I stand, my legs a bit shaky. Otherwise I'm okay. Strong enough to keep myself upright. "Will you visit soon?" I ask him. He smiles at me then, and I feel as though my heart has been restarted. A warmth spreads through me, and I'm reminded of all the afternoons we'd spent in the forest, hunting and venting and just enjoying the other's company. I try to remember how things were before I knew Gale, but I barely can.

"Of course, Catnip."

When Gale says my nickname, a nickname I haven't heard in what feels like a lifetime, I crack. The tears start again, and I wrap my arms around his waist. He chuckles softly into my matted hair and holds me tightly. We stand like that for at least ten minutes – Gale's arms squeezing my shoulders, my arms crushing his waist, my head buried in his shoulders, his dress shirt absorbing my tears. "I'm sorry for not being there. I needed you. I knew that then. I just couldn't bring myself to face you."

I can feel him nod, and I pull away to get a look at his face. This close up I can see the faint smile lines around his eyes. He looks even more handsome than he had when I'd last seen him. "Gale," I ask because, although it's none of my business, I need to know. "do you still love me?"

Gale doesn't answer for a moment. He takes the time to think about his answer, and, finally, he nods. I feel both elated and crushed because I need him to love me, but I know that I can never return his feelings. Not with Peeta still here. "I love you. I always will. But things have changed. I've moved on, met someone else. Fallen in love with someone else. I still love you, Catnip, just in a different way."

I sigh in relief because this kind of love I can understand. This kind of love I can process and return. This is the love that should have always been there between us. "I love you, too, Gale."

He gives me a quick hug and a kiss on the forehead, and then he's walking toward the door and going back to his life and his career and the new woman that he loves. "Tell Peeta I said to take good care of you."

"You know he will." I tell him, and he smiles.

Then he's gone, and I'm alone in my kitchen with nothing but the sound of soft shoveling that floats in from outside. I peek out the kitchen window and spot Peeta in his front yard, a spade clutched between his hands. There are droplets of sweat collected along his forehead, and I can see his back muscles tighten beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. He kneels down and begins planting a bundle of seeds along the pathway that leads to his door. They're a new addition, he told me. Dandelions. I know they're for me.

He notices me watching him and smiles. My breath catches. It's times like these that I forget about all of the pain in our lives. Forget how our families were destroyed beyond repair. Forget how every night I'm terrorized by nightmares of the Games. Forget how he tugs at his hair and squeezes his eyes shut and pushes away the false memories that tell him I'm a monster. It's times like these that my life feels normal. That I thank the higher power who took away my family that He pitied me enough to leave me the one person I can't imagine living without. Peeta.

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Don't forget to review and give me your thoughts on both the ending of Katniss/Gale in the book and your opinion on my fanfic. Thanks for reading!


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